


when i look at you in your eyes (i see that there is something burning inside of you)

by villhag



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, i watched 3.07 and i am EMOTIONAL, soft!villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villhag/pseuds/villhag
Summary: “I will figure it out,” Villanelle’s voice was fading, turbulent static infiltrating their little bubble, “I need you to wait for me, Eve. Six hours, okay? I will meet you.”“Do you promise?” Eve whispered into the receiver.OR: set immediately after the ending of 3x07. I'm impatient for the finale so I wrote a bit of it myself.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 23
Kudos: 378





	when i look at you in your eyes (i see that there is something burning inside of you)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if there are any typos, i wrote this literally the moment after 3.07 aired and now i need to sleep, but i'm publishing it anyway, i hope you like it!

Eve can’t stop thinking about it.

She slams her hand down, throwing back another shot of scorching vodka. She hates herself because that sentence is anything but foreign, anything but new. _Can’t stop thinking about it_ . What is _it_ ? It is variable―the phone call, the train station, the bus ride, the ghost of her footsteps in the woodland soil. _It_ is unimportant―the subject is Villanelle. It’s always Villanelle. Eve can’t even point back to when it started. All she knew is that it took her over like a parasite, and here she was, a willing host.

And a host she was. A host to new desires, primal, unflinching, murderous. Yet at the same time, something unquestionably small, sweet, protective―these feelings sang like an asynchronous chorus from inside her, guiding every step, limb, and motion towards the woman she couldn’t stop looking for. 

The vodka sat heavy in her stomach. She was naive to think it would stop the thumping in her head, make the thoughts come less. If anything it only made the longing worse, breaking down every last frail wall separating Eve from her subconscious. She pulled her phone out again, reading the recent call list for the millionth time. Villanelle was supposed to call again. Villanelle was going to call again. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she had said, voice sweet as saccharin, all low notes. Eve had nodded into her phone, speechless. She was paralyzed, watching the trains ride by, people walk in a hurry. Eve wasn’t in a hurry. With Villanelle’s voice in her ear, everything slowed. Time was relative to the speed that words left her lips.

“I’m so sick of it,” Eve said softly, surprising even herself. Her voice cracked, and she was suddenly swallowed by underlying emotion, an overwhelming _need_ that lay dormant during the workday. 

“Sick of what, Eve?” Villanelle had responded, curious and coy, but something else―hurt, scared. Eve wanted to cradle the sound, to hold it until the world was black, until there was nothing else to hold onto but each other.

“I―we need to talk,” Eve managed, “I need to see you.”

“Yes,” Villanelle responded after a moment, cool as ever, “I think I need to see you too.”

“How?”

“I will figure it out,” Villanelle’s voice was fading, turbulent static infiltrating their little bubble, “I need you to wait for me, Eve. Six hours, okay? I will meet you.”

“Do you promise?” Eve whispered into the receiver, weak, soft, vulnerable. She couldn’t find it in her to be embarrassed. She could barely find it in her not to fall apart.

The line cut off, and Eve inhaled, her eyes closing. 

And here she was, six hours later, two shots of vodka down the hatchet. She wondered, briefly, if Konstantin had made it. She wonders about it in the same way she wonders about Niko―with numb, stainless steel apathy. It’s not that she doesn’t care―that’s not it at all. It’s just that it pales in comparison to the skyscraper living in her chest, the twenty-two story building of nerve endings, of tension, of want and desire. 

Then there was the knock at the door. Eve gasped for breath, shooting up from her bed. She stood there for a moment, just blinking. She smoothed out her hair, ran her fingers over her hips, down the sides of her thighs, feeling the material there. Something tangible, something to confirm that this was still real.

She approached the door and opened it slowly. 

“You’re late,” she breathed out. 

“It is fashionable to be late,” Villanelle grinned, eyes squinting with genuine relief. Eve could tell she had been through the ringer just to get there. Her brown suit was torn, muddied with dried blood and sweat. Her hair was slightly matted, but still gorgeous. God―she was gorgeous. Eve felt like an idiot, unable to stop her eyes from raking Villanelle from the top down. Here they were, finally at the apex of their unbridled chaos, and all Eve wanted to do was press her up against a wall. 

“Can I come in?” Villanelle asked with a light laugh. Eve’s eyes went wide.

“Of course,” Eve said, “sorry.”

Villanelle snaked around Eve, their bodies touching lightly as she went through the doorway. Villanelle made a point to ghost her hand over Eve’s, dragging her fingers gently over Eve’s palm as she stalked into the tiny kitchen. If Eve had felt like a fire before, she was a furnace now.

“Is there a plan?” Eve said, closing the door and letting her body fall hard against it.

“A plan? That really depends, Eve.”

“Depends on what?”

“It…” Villanelle began slowly, turning to face Eve. Her eyes had changed, the sultry dark turning small, vulnerable, “it depends on what you want, Eve.”

A silence fell. Eve didn’t need to hear anything else to understand. Ever since they first met, there had been an unspoken channel of communication between them. It wasn’t exactly physical, but it wasn’t exactly mental, either. It was a pang, a dull ache in the chest. It was a pulse. Eve knew the king was in her court now. Eve knew that Villanelle was no longer playing chess.

Eve approached Villanelle. She held her stare, searching her eyes. Villanelle’s eyes darted to Eve’s lips, and Eve felt her stomach sink, sink, turn, sink. They were barely a breath away. Eve could feel the fabric of Villanelle’s suit jacket on her fingertips.

“Sit,” Eve instructed. Villanelle’s eyebrows raised, but she complied, pulling a chair out from under Eve’s kitchen table. Eve did the same.

“We need to talk,” Eve started. 

Villanelle smiled, “we are talking.”

“Right.”

“Right,” Villanelle mimicked. Eve knew she was making fun of her, but she also knew she’d wait all night to hear what Eve had to say. Probably all day, sitting in that chair until her tired legs ached.

“Last year, there was this guy. Sort of a therapist. Carolyn introduced us,” Eve said, the memory passing over her. Villanelle’s teasing smile dropped, suspicious, “not like _that_. He just came in to talk to us. Or atleast, that was his cover. His cover for his real job, which was analyzing me. Seeing where my head was at.”

“And where was it?” Villanelle toyed, eyes glued to Eve’s, hanging on every last word.

Eve ignored her and continued, “I hunted him down after his presentation and started asking him questions about you. How he thought your mind worked. I wanted to control you, manipulate you. I wanted you to feel like you could trust me.”

Villanelle was silent, face unreadable. Eve swallowed thickly. 

“But then he asked me a question,” Eve’s voice broke, trembled, “he asked me how I felt―how I felt when I think about you.”

“And?” Villanelle probed softly. 

“Alive, Oksana. I felt―I feel alive,” Eve said, and it came out as a desperate whisper, “you have made me feel more like myself than anyone I have ever met. I think about you constantly. You virtually live inside me. Sometimes I even hear things in your voice, like you’re right beside me when I’m completely alone. And I can’t claw it out. I can’t.”

The last thing Eve expected to see on Villanelle’s face were tears. Two, precisely, staining pale skin and rosy cheeks. Her expression was otherwise icy, collected, a thin line across her face, but her eyes were wet, strained. She looked like she was holding back a tsunami. Eve reached out to catch it, her hand sliding across the table, hooking around Villanelle’s ring finger. Villanelle inhaled.

"You live in my head, too. It is quite annoying. You never shut up, ever," Villanelle smirked softly, lips trembling. She threaded her fingers through Eve's, "but you live somewhere else, too."

"Where?" Eve asked, lips ajar. Villanelle took her free hand and guided it over her suit jacket, peeling it away from her skin. It drooped to the floor, and Villanelle touched her hand to the fabric of her shirt, grasping tightly at the fabric directly over her heart.

"I know you don't think so," Villanelle said, voice hard. Eve felt like she had been stabbed all over again, limp like a wounded animal. The hurt evident in Villanelle's face was not caused by her alone, but she was a part of it. She had scarred her beneath the skin.

"You're wrong," Eve whispered, voice cracking, "I _know_ you love me. I know it because I can feel it too. I feel it _everywhere_."

" _Eve_ ,” is all Villanelle could manage before the dam broke. Suddenly the two solemn tears became wells, hollow cries. Eve was by her side in an instant, kneeling by her chair, hands in her lap. 

“What’s wrong?” Eve whispered, heart shattering. Villanelle sniffled, trying to contain the meltdown. She brushed at the tears under her eyes, but Eve quickly took her hands away, replacing them with her own. She stroked a thumb under Villanelle’s right eye, then her left, feeling the warm heat of her damp face. 

“I―I think I feel―,” Villanelle hiccuped, unable to form a coherent thought, “it sounds so stupid, so stupid―”

“Tell me,” Eve said, holding Villanelle’s face with both hands. Villanelle whimpered, folding to Eve’s touch.

“I think I feel wanted,” Villanelle said, her eyes boring into Eve’s.

“Oh,” Eve said, heart in the pit of her stomach, “oh, _baby_.”

Without hesitation, Eve rose from the floor, climbing into Villanelle’s lap. Villanelle whimpered beneath her, usually strong muscles bruised and tired. Eve looped her arms behind Villanelle’s neck and tenderly, softly pressed her lips into hers. 

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” Eve whispered into Villanelle’s mouth. Eve could feel Villanelle tremble at her words, her lips moving slowly against her own. When Eve had imagined their first kiss―their first real kiss―it had never been like this, agonizingly slow, painfully soft. But it was better than anything she could dream up. It slowed her heartbeat, it froze her pulse. If Eve was religious, she’d call it godly, a melancholic nirvana.

Eve was torn from her thoughts by their lips parting. Villanelle inhaled sharply, and Eve could tell she was fighting back another sob. She had always thought it was stupid to think that someone could be more beautiful when they cried, but it was true, God it was true―

“So, I’ll ask you again,” Eve said slowly, cupping Villanelle’s cheek, fingers scratching at the back of her head, “what’s the plan?”

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first time writing for them so i hope my characterizations were okay! i cannot believe next week's episode is the last of s3 AGH


End file.
